The Meaning of Dreams
by Sirylu
Summary: When the DADA professor assigns a project dealing with dream interpretation, Harry is in for a surprise. A look into his mind tells him that maybe Draco Malfoy had been playing a different role in his life than the one he had first been assigned. H/D
1. When You Thought You Knew Yourself Surpr...

**Title:** The Meaning of Dreams   
**Author:** Karura Varyin, a.k.a Sirylu  
**Email:** webmistress@ingrad.net  
**Category**: Slash/Romance/Angst  
** Rating:** PG-13 for now. Eventually R  
**Spoilers:** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF.  
**  
** **DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Warnings:** This is a **Slash** piece of fanfiction, so **male/male** relationships will be involved. If you're not comfortable with **homosexuality**, don't keep on reading this story. The two characters involved in the action are **Harry Potter** and **Draco Malfoy**. There, now don't you say I didn't warn you *grins*  
**  
** **Author notes:** The only thing I can do is to kneel and adore my wonderful betas: Arwena and Jamie, because they made this possible, they accomplished the impossible and were able to make me make sense *gasps*, they took the mass of grammatical mistakes and whipped them into the correct shape. Because Arwena likes silvery blonde better and Jamie loves being cliffhanger-ized. With betas like this I don't mind to be whipped to keep characters from wandering off-character *oh! Kinky!! Laughs* This is dedicated for you, girls!!!

**Special Thanks:** To all of you guys that reviewed the first version of this chapter. You don't really know what you're getting into giving me such an ego boost. Really. Be afraid. Be VERY afraid! Mwahahahaha! 

**MoD Home on the net:** veranoctis.ingrad.net (add the http before the url if you need it)

  
  
*** * *  
** **  
****The Meaning of Dreams**   
**Chapter 1: **_When You Thought You Knew Yourself... Surprise!  
  
_*** * ***_   
_

Class, if you'd be so nice as to lend me one minute of your attention I'd be eternally grateful.

  
Harry smiled at the sarcastic remark coming from the thirty-something raven-haired woman at the teacher's desk. Katherine Jenkins' so called _academic modus operandi'_ was something they had grown to love during the time she had been teaching at Hogwarts. Although strict and really exigent, the current _Defence Against the Dark Arts_ Professor had a humorous vein that showed in her classes, which had gained her the worshiping of most of her students - specially Ravenclaws, house she had belonged to at her Hogwarts years. Even the Slytherins seemed not to hold a great amount of distaste for her, and that was saying a lot.

  
Besides, she was one hell of a demonology teacher, and that was one of the more popular themes in the 6th year programme. Harry firmly believed that was the reason the Slytherins were so thrilled with her classes, looking at all those demons must make them feel like home

  
And on top of everything, she held the honour of being the longest lasting _Defence_ teacher to the record since Harry had come to Hogwarts. In her first year at the school, she had ruined lots of polls among the students that had betted about the possible evil nature of the newcomer. She had been teaching for a year and half now, and she hadn't started to do satanic rituals sacrificing virgin students nor planning world domination yet. That had made students decide that maybe she could possibly be not evil after all.

  
So she was up there, right after Remus Lupin, in the _Most Likeable Defence Against the Dark Arts Teachers List_. Nobody really minded that the other teachers in the list had been loyal followers of You Know Who or down right incompetent vain gits.

  
But fun or not fun, it was always highly recommendable to pay attention when she required so. The 6th year Gryffindors went silent to hear what their professor had to say.

  
Good. I see that you actually can follow a suggestion. The woman offered her class a smile and some of the students giggled. I know you are awfully busy with next Quidditch game preparations, but the nasty reality imposes its presence and requires that you have to apply your brain cells on something besides Snitches, Quaffles and brooms. 

  
Seamus Finnigan opened his mouth to raise his objection to that particular idea, but Jenkins fixed him with a mocking glare. 

  
Yes, mister Finnigan, there are other things besides Quidditch, no, _Quidditch Through the Ages_ isn't the official text for this class and since Quidditch isn't a religion, no you cannot accuse me of heresy and you can't plead that professing it impede you to work on the assignment I'm about to tell you all about. 

  
Seamus closed his mouth and sulked in his seat muttering something that greatly resembled to Merlin, forgive her for she doesn't know what she is saying.

  
Katherine Jenkins ignored Seamus comment and widened blue eyes dramatically in feign terror while bringing a hand to her chest in affected manner. Oh my, now I've blown the surprise! She watched her class perk up at the mention possible added work, and she winked deviously at them. So tell me, dearest students o'mine, how does a little extra research project sound to you?

  
The Gryffindors erupted in a massive choir of groans at the news. Well, Harry noticed, everyone groaned minus Hermione, who was looking at Professor Jenkins with something akin to adoration in her brown eyes. Trust Hermione to go all ga-ga over an assignment. And in Jenkins' class the dark haired boy had seen his friend do that quite often – The woman had a fetish with assigning essays, to Hermione's eternal delight - Harry exchanged a glance with Ron and both boys rolled their eyes in unison, a reflex they had mastered during the years they had known Hermione. They saw the girl raise earnestly her hand.

  
Yes, Miss Granger?

  
Does this project give us extra points for our end of year evaluation?

  
Oh, for Merlin's sake, Hermione. Even I am not that sadistic to propose an extra project and not give points for it. Those who decide to do it and present their essays before Easter break will gain 2% for their final grade. Besides the purely materialistic point of view, I highly recommend you consider taking this project. It's not because it's my idea, but it's really, and I mean _really_, interesting.

  
Professor Jenkins offered them an angelic smile belied by the mischievous twinkle in her cobalt eyes and suspicions raised to frantic levels in the Gryffindor class. After a year and half of knowing Katherine Jenkins they had learnt that when the woman went all innocent and seemingly inoffensive on them they had to start fearing what was to come. Some of the students squirmed uncomfortably in their seats, Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown looked warily at each other and even Hermione narrowed her eyes waiting for what Jenkins had in store for them.

  
The teacher merely looked at them in silence, waiting patiently for the words that her students were obviously avoiding to pronounce. In Harry's opinion, she had this _I can wait as long as you want, but you are SO asking'_ smug expression on her face, that meant they had no chance to escape whatever they had coming.

  
And what's the project about, Professor Jenkins? Realizing that no one in the class was going to ask the dreaded question and that Jenkins would never let them go from the classroom until she had had her fun torturing them with the answer, Harry, being the hero he was, took for himself the responsibility.

  
With a smile the 6th year Gryffindors would classify later as positively evil, Jenkins took a little wooden box from the floor next to her desk and after opening it, she grabbed a little vial with a silvery fluid within and balanced it between two fingers. I was starting to think that you were never going to ask.

**  
* * ***

  
So, what do you think about this _Somnus Veritus_ potion, Herm? Harry said while looking warily at the silvery fluid within the vial in his hand. He had decided he was going to do the project after all, since extra points never hurt. 

  
Almost all the class seemed to share that thought since except for a couple of students, everyone else had signed for it.

  
It's _Veritas, _not_ Veritus_, corrected the girl offhandedly. I'm sure it will be greatly interesting. Most of Jenkins' extra assignments are. Hermione scowled at Ron, who was walking next to her. I'm glad you have chosen to try it, Harry. Unlike others. The brunette girl muttered under her breath.

  
Ron, obviously, had been one of those few who hadn't taken the project – Parvati being the other. His excuse had been that his duties as Gryffindor Quidditch Captain left him very little free time and, in the redhead's word's: _He wasn't going to waste it on a project only worth 2% of the grade.'_

  
I'm sorry Herm, but I'm far too busy planning Quidditch practices to serve as a guinea pig for Jenkins. That woman may not be an evil minion of You Know Who, but she is a Sadistic Lady of Academic Evil. I'm telling you, she enjoys too much giving us thousands of extra assignments. And there are some of us who have lives outside the academic world, you know.

  
Hermione looked positively offended at this.

  
I do have a non academic life, thank you very much, Ron Weasley. And I'm also sure that _some of us_ will be having one hell of a problem when NEWTs come next year. They will be pleading for as many extra points as they can get by then, and sadly it will be too late.

  
Herm, sarcasm doesn't suit you at all. It makes your hair look bushier than usual. Why don't you be a good little girl and leave the subject alone?

  
If looks could kill the flame haired boy would have been a nice pile of dust on the corridor's floor right then. Hermione snorted in a very unladylike manner and stomped towards the Potions dungeon as if she were the bearer of the Divine Ire. Harry and Ron watched their mutual friend storm off and sighed.

  
Ron, don't tease her. You know she is right.

  
Ron shrugged.

  
I know, I know, but sometimes she gets on my nerves. Seeing Harry's raised eyebrow, the redhead conceded a smile. Ok, she drives me up the walls most of the time. I know she does what she does for our well-being and all, Harry, but sometimes she is worse than my mother. And you _know_ my mother

  
Harry smiled. He could see Ron's point. Hermione worried about the both of them, but she was especially insistent and overbearing where the young Weasley was concerned. He sarcastically wondered why.

  
So, quoting Herm here, what do you think of Jenkins' assignment? Don't you feel a little uneasy about having to drink something Snape prepared?

  
Ron's voice brought Harry out of his musings and the boy shrugged. I really am with Hermione on this one. The project seems really interesting. Harry gave a casual glance at the vial he was carrying in his hand. I mean, it's like the Mirror of Erised all over again. You know what Professor Jenkins told us back when she was teaching us about illusions and mental manipulation: _There's no better defence against external elements trying to control you that a deep knowledge of yourself'._ And that's precisely what this little silvery friend grants us: Dreams that will show us our deepest feelings, desires, a totally unbiased view of our thoughts and impressions. And it also guarantees you'll remember everything when you wake up. I think it's pretty neat.

  
Yes, yes, but knowing Snape made the potion

  
Oh, come on, Ron! The man has had almost six years to poison us at his class any time he wished so and here we are, alive and kicking. Snape can be as hateful as you want, but he is damn right competent in his job. Do you really think he would mess up with the potions just to get rid of us? And having to endure being criticised for being negligent? His pride would never allow something like that to happen and you know it.

  
Ron admitted defeat grudgingly, but he kept on muttering that he could have no choice but potion-testing in Snape's class, but he would be as far as possible from anything with Snape signature on it outside the Slytherin Professor's dungeon.

  
Oh well, don't you think we should imitate Hermione and make our merry way to Potions? My day can't wait to be lightened by Snape and his totally adorable Slytherins.

  
Yeah, me too, was Harry's dry reply. Nothing better to cheer you up than two hours of double Potions with Slytherin and Snape.

  
So, Harry Ron hesitated and the raven-haired boy knew what was coming. Do you think Herm is really angry at me this time?

  
Harry sighed. Yes, Ron. I think she is quite pissed off at you right now. You should know better than make fun of her academic obsession that often. And that not being sarcastic remark'? A big no-no. Of course, that little remark didn't matter all that much. 

  
Ron's shot him a questioning look and Harry merely shrugged.

  
You had already crossed the _I have a death wish'_ line when you commented on her hair. It was quite a miracle she didn't throttle you right then.

  


  
The redheaded boy fell silent and dragged his feet along the stone covered floor of the Hogwarts corridors. He seemed to be weighing what would be the worse evil right now. Dealing with the usual nastiness of Snape of having to face Hermione's patented _Avada Kedavra_ glare at the desk they shared.

  
The Boy Who Lived To Witness The Ron And Hermione Saga sneaked a glance at his best friend seeing the _deep-down-in-thought-and-more-than-slightly-scared_ look on his face couldn't suppress a smirk. 

  
The way those two behaved was the main source of amusement for the residents of the Gryffindor Tower. The way they conducted their un-relationship was endearing, really, in a _please-get-over-with-the-dramatics-and-start-smooching-already!_ kind of way. For Merlin's sake, there were bets running among the Gryffindors to see when the two of then would - finally - get together and even first years were participating! 

  
Ron threw him a quizzical look when he noticed the smirk but Harry simply shook his head and after a light tap on his friend's shoulder started racing towards the dungeons. Thinking about Ron and Hermione and their never-ending courtship was fun but he definitely preferred not to deal with a furious Snape for having arrived late at his class.

**  
* * ***

  
The rest of the day had gone considerably well for Harry.

  
Snape had yelled at him, as per usual, but the amount of points taken from Gryffindor by the sinister Potions Master had been noticeably low for his standards.

  
At lunch hour Malfoy and his cronies had engaged Ron and him in their usual sparring match. After exchanging some witty remarks, nasty insults and a few death threats, Ron had come up with a brilliant Ferret Boy' remark that had allowed them to get to their table leaving an enraged red-faced Malfoy behind. The Gryffindor community greeted them with a large collection of ear-to-ear grins.

  
The afternoon had been pretty uneventful, mostly due to the lack of Slytherin/Gryffindor forced time-sharing during the post lunch hours. 

  
Thankfully before afternoon classes started, Ron and Hermione had called a cease of hostilities and had gone back to speaking terms. No sane Gryffindor would like to have a class with the two of them when the air cracked with suppressed electricity.

  
Herbology and Charms had been better than usual, in fact, since Neville Longbottom hadn't caused any irreparable disaster, and the Quidditch practice had gone smoothly. Harry was the first to acknowledge that Ron was doing a great job with the team this year. It was thanks to his intensive trainings and deeply studied strategic plans they were leading the Interhouse Cup.

  
At dinner round two in the Slytherin/Gryffindor verbal battle had been less virulent than the standards and Harry found himself somehow disappointed. 

  
Honestly! You couldn't trust Slytherins on anything

  
When bedtime had finally arrived it was the moment when stronger emotions came into play inside Gryffindor 6th years dormitories.

  
Mostly, glaringly obvious distrust directed to a certain silver coloured potion. Besides Neville who, given his urging need to raise his grades, had offered his friends a helpless look and subsequently drowned the silvery liquid and gotten into bed, the rest didn't seem to have things that clear. 

  
Or to be that desperate.

  
It was really easy to see that both Seamus and Dean Thomas were having second thoughts about the whole matter. And of course, Harry noticed, Ron was wearing a sarcastic smirk on his freckled face.

  
What guys, afraid the little nice potion will jump out of the vial and bite you?

  
Dean Thomas glared at him but said nothing. Seamus simply shrugged. He, like Neville, needed the grade boosting, but still... 

  
Be quiet, Ron. Harry waved a hand at his friend and the redhead responded with a widening of his smirk. There is something I don't understand, if you are afraid of the project why pick it in the first place?

  
It's not that I'm scared of drinking the potion, Harry, Dean explained. It's what I could be shown in my dreams that I fear. 

  
Yes. What if we see something we wouldn't want to, Seamus continued. They say ignorance is bliss, you know.

  
Dean and Seamus' words brought silence to the room. Understanding glances were exchanged and Harry realized that their friends had every reason to be wary. After all, there isn't anything worse than discovering something you don't like about yourself.

  
Oh yeah, imagine if you dream of Snape in a pink tutu, that would scar you for life!

  
Ron's words lightened the atmosphere in the room and Dean and Seamus laughed out loud. Harry smiled at his best friend thankful for his intervention. Trust Ron to make the sour mood go away.

  
_Thank you_, Ron. Seamus' voice dripped with sarcasm. Now, that was an image I didn't really need.

  
The Irish boy and Dean went into a fit of chuckles and Harry offered Ron a little evil grin.

  
So that's the real reason you didn't take the assignment. The green-eyed boy raised a dark eyebrow at his friend. Do you have something to tell us, Ronnikins?

  
Ron's highly offended exclamation served to send the other boys into another fit of laughter. Fine! But don't come to me tomorrow looking for a shoulder to cry on when you have to deal with the repercussions of a whole night being chased by a suggestively clothed Snape! The redhead gave up then his feigned indignation and joined his friends' laughter.

  
After a while, the peace was finally restored in the Gryffindor 6th year dorm and Seamus, Dean and Harry, after exchanging glances, raised their vials in a toast.

  
Dean started, we are doing it, right?

  
was Harry and Seamus' reply.

  
Then down with it.

  
To Evil Potion Masters and Fluffy Pink Dance Garments!

  
The three boys glared at Ron who in response smiled beatifically at them. After dissipating the very disturbing image their friend's words had conjured, they drank their respective potions and climbed into bed. Ron followed their example.

  
We should be feeling sleepy really soon, Harry analysed after directing a glance at Neville. He has been sleeping all through our mad laughter, so I think the potion must have some kind of sleep-inducing component.

  
The only response he got was a couple of muffled yawns from the other two boys in the experiment and a _Shut up, Harry'_ from Ron. The dark haired boy sighed and got comfortable in his bed, his last coherent thought being: _If I'm dreaming about Snape I swear I'll go to Madam Pomfrey to be put out of my sufferings_

**  
* * ***

  
_The dream started in the most complete darkness. Harry knew immediately this wasn't like his other dreams. Such a perfect blackness hadn't been present before. No, those were either nightmares, in which most of the time Cedric Diggory or his parents took lead roles, or too vivid views of the evil he had to battle, where he was only an impotent witness. _

_  
This one was definitely different. _

_  
Despite the total blindness he was subjected to he didn't feel threatened at all. The velvety quality of the surrounding darkness made him feel somehow safe, comforted. _

_  
His skin was tingling with a pleasant sensation induced by the silky strands of nothingness wrapping him and he was experiencing something he had only known when riding his broom across the skies._

_  
Utterly perfect freedom._

_  
Here, floating in the middle of nowhere with blackness for only company he felt more at ease than he had ever felt before._

_  
It was strange but good._

_  
Then everything changed._

_  
The pure frame of darkness started dissolving, leaving its place to lighter shades of colour. Harry marvelled at the complete impossibility of what was happening: an artificial sunrise lacking its sun. But it was all there. Morning colours swaying in the chilling breeze, the sound of birds that didn't exist but that offered their songs nonetheless, ghostly drops of water wetting soft strands of black hair. His hair._

_  
Where there had been nothingness there was now a complete world of blinding beauty and perfect irrationality. Never had the mornings held such a vivid display of vanity. _

_  
He absently realized that he was only wearing his pyjama bottoms and that he should be suffering the effects of the cold morning air. But he didn't._

_  
It seemed that in this incomparable scenario anything could not exist that would mar the perception of the surrounding beauty._

_  
Harry knew he couldn't help the unavoidable._

_  
He fell in love with the breathtaking landscape. His only desire was to stop time and freeze the wonder before his eyes for him to be able to stay there forever._

_  
Gone was the safety of the night, replaced by the excitement of a just born day. The comfort the darkness had previously offered had parted to leave its place to the sense of being alive danger provided._

_  
His heart was beating in the same tempo of the swaying blades of grass and his consciousness wrapped itself around the tiniest of the details he saw all around him: the delicate flying of a butterfly, the sound of the wind rustling the trees' leaves, the smell of humid earth under his feet _

_  
When a soft hand touched his shoulder he didn't even feel the surprise that should have been there. If perfection was what surrounded him then it could never be enjoyed in solitude. He turned his head around and offered the figure behind him a sweet smile._

_  
The smile was returned in such a tender way that Harry could feel his heart doing a funny flip-flop and his knees turning into melting wax. Utter happiness wrapped him; amazed that such a little gesture could make his dream world even more perfect than before._

_  
Slender but strong arms went around him and he found himself in the sweetness of an embrace, the bare skin of a masculine chest pressed against his back. Turning around in the circle of those ghostly arms he faced his dream visitor and also sneaked his arms around the other's torso, returning the hug._

_  
How he had known even before he had been touched by those tender hands that his mysterious visitor was a man escaped Harry, but he had the deeply engraved sensation that he knew this one who made him feel so content._

_  
Feathery fingers traced the line of his jaw and Harry allowed his eyelids to flutter closed, instinctively knowing that giving up his ability to see would trigger a deeper appreciation of the moment. When the touch stopped he instantly felt the coldness of the missing contact and opened his closed eyes in a look of disappointment and reproach._

_  
The mysterious figure let out a deep chuckle that made shivers ran down Harry's back and complied at the silent request he could read in the green eyes of the dark haired boy. Where once fingers had been, now lips tasted Harry's skin. A whirlwind of sensations washed over the green eyed teenager and he felt his perfect world dissolve until there was nothing more than he and his dream visitor standing alone in the nothingness. _

_  
He felt overwhelmed by such a sweet assault and wanted nothing more than to surrender totally to the person seducing him so, offering the talented dream lover anything – everything - he wanted._

_  
The part of his mind that still was able of coherent thinking told him that it was indeed seduction what he was experiencing, the sensations evoked too intimate to be otherwise. Yet, he didn't feel the rush of adrenaline commonly associated with sexual desire. The touch of this familiar stranger was like the one offered by the darkness in the beginnings of the dream: comforting, cherishing, adoring_

_  
For this moment to never reach an end he was willing to give up the beauty the awakening day had brought to him. For this stranger to love him he was willing to lose himself in his touch and never look for a way back, not now, not ever again._

_  
Harry realized neither of them had talked yet and he was deeply grateful for this fact. He just knew there was no way he could put into words what he wanted to tell the other man. That only the contact of skin against skin, only feathery touches dropped like phantom kisses, could barely aspire to express what transpired between them. _

_  
An unnecessary attempt to vocalize the sensations electrifying the air around them would only spoil the magic of such an intimately shared moment._

_  
When cool lips trailed down his neck with slow deliberateness, Harry abandoned himself to the miracle of being loved like that. A warm tongue traced his collarbone and the dark haired boy's breathing quickened at the contact. In an unconscious movement he threw his head back to grant his seducer better access to his skin and this made the other man smile against him._

_  
Depositing a deep and wet kiss just below Harry's Adam's apple, the mysterious lover retraced his path on the dark boy's skin and found his way up his neck to reach one tempting earlobe. Chills of pleasure found again their way down the raven-haired teenager spine and he pressed himself against the other's bare chest, tightening their embrace._

_  
It was as if Harry tried to melt into his lover, creating a unique entity where two had previously existed. _

_  
He finally ventured one slender hand upwards and let his fingers entwine in the other's mass of silky hair. _

_  
The Boy Who Lived marvelled at the softness of the impossible silvery blond strands, tilting his head up to let himself be surrounded by their intoxicating fragrance, a mix of exotic flowers and a touch of lemon. _

_  
Slowly, his hand trailed down to find the smoothness of pale skin, delicately cupping the other man's cheek. The joy Harry experienced when his pale lover leaned into his touch was comparable to nothing he had ever felt before. _

_  
The seducer was being now seduced._

_  
This simple truth made the green eyed boy ridiculously happy._

_  
In a moment during which reality shattered and was built again, their lips touched and Harry's previous statement was proved wrong. If touching the other man's skin had gifted Harry with incomparable joy, the warmth of their mouths melting in what could only be described as perfection made The Boy Who Lived realize that he would never feel complete if not in this pale figure's arms._

_  
Hot and cold washed over Harry, making him tremble with the igniting of his deepest passions._

_  
Comfort turned into desire; safety into a craving for possession. _

_  
His tongue started a sensual dance with his lover's and the blood roared in his veins wishing for more, wanting everything the other man had to offer. They kissed knowing their dream world could be gone just like a flame under the rain, ardently and with underlying desperation._

_  
During those moments when they were one, nothing else mattered._

_  
Smiling, Harry pulled back from their kiss trying to catch his breath and found himself gazing deeply into the silvery depths of tender eyes that mirrored his affection._

_  
He reached up with his hand to tenderly brush pale fringe off his lover's forehead and he was gifted with a heartbreakingly beautiful smile. _

_  
In that very moment Harry knew that things were as they always should have been._

_  
And then, as suddenly as every other change in his dream had taken place, the foreignness still masking the other man was no more. Everything fell into place bringing painful realizations and with sharp accuracy the dream shattered around them_

  
Making Harry wake up in his bed at the Gryffindor dorm, pure horror running like fire in his veins.

  
Oh god, no. The boy buried his face in his hands, tremors running through his body. Please, no. Not this, not _him_.

**  
* * ***

_End of Chapter 1_

  


**_Infamous Last Words:_** Who is the mysterious dream lover ? _*rolls eyes: as if you don't already know...*_ And how will poor Harry cope -discarding murder and suicide- with the situation???  
All this and a little more in MoD Chapter 2! 


	2. Turning Your Back On Your Dreams Won’t M...

**Title:** The Meaning of Dreams   
**Author:** Karura Varyin, a.k.a Sirylu  
**Email:** webmistress@ingrad.net  
**Category:** Slash/Romance/Angst  
**Rating:** PG-13 for now. Eventually R  
**Spoilers:** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF. 

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 

**Warnings:** This is a **Slash** piece of fanfiction, so **male/male** relationships will be involved. If you're not comfortable with **homosexuality**, don't keep on reading this story. The two characters involved in the action are **Harry Potter** and **Draco Malfoy.** There, now don't you say I didn't warn you *grins* 

**Author notes:** I will kneel again and keep adoring my betas, because they are *SO* helpful that, without their aid, this chapter wouldn't be posted here, really. Lady M, Arwena, Regret... you so rock my socks, girls! 

**Special Thanks:** To all of you guys that reviewed the first chapter: firy_rain, JadeDragon, Yami Megami, Zahrah May, Maya, aloysius, LunaSerenity, Silvara, Razberry, schulyr, AshFarley, Madame Winkie II, KawaiiKowaiKoneko, Baby Ty Ty and Hope-Leer   
You don't really know what you're getting into giving me such an ego boost. Really. Be afraid. Be VERY afraid! Mwahahahaha! 

**MoD Home on the net:** veranoctis.ingrad.net (add the http before the url if you need it)

**  
* * ***

**The Meaning of Dreams**  
**Chapter 2:** _Turning your back on your dreams won't make them go away._

** * * ***

When asked later, those Gryffindors who had witnessed Harry's arrival at the Great Hall for breakfast would say that The Boy Who Lived wasn't looking all that well that particular Wednesday morning. His black hair was messier than usual, his face too pale and very dark circles showed under green eyes. 

  


In conclusion, all evidence seemed to indicate that he hadn't had a very good night. 

  


If asked, Harry would have said that was the understatement of the century, and then tell his interrogator to sod off. 

  


It wasn't that he was feeling a little down or tired. He wished that was all. But the truth of his state was that his emotions were going from downright miserable, to disgusted at the world in general, complete with a lovely 'totally horrified' wrapping. 

  


A night like the one he had experienced tended to do that to a boy. 

  


His entrance in the Great Hall had bordered on spectacular. The whole Gryffindor table had gone silent upon seeing Harry crawl his way to his usual seat next to Hermione and Ron, dragging rather than carrying his schoolbag. When he reached his destination, he had tossed said bag carelessly aside and let himself fall on the chair, as if wanting to be one with the wooden object. Then he had muttered four words and ignored the curious glances his fellow Gryffindors were giving him. 

  


"Coffee. Black. Double. Now". The mug apparated on the table, courtesy of House Elves Enterprises and Harry grabbed onto the vessel as if his life depended on it. 

  


Word was that Gryffindors were brave, loyal and they never let down a fallen comrade. And all the young men and women munching on their respective pieces of toast or drinking their coffee at the table were Gryffindors all right. But, against Slytherin popular belief, they were not stupid, and knew how to recognize a life-threatening situation when they saw it. 

  


The problems usually came when they had to avoid said dangerous scenarios. But not this time. 

  


The exchange of looks and silent deliberation that had taken place upon Harry's arrival seemed to have lead to the consensus that trying to talk to the dark haired boy could end up in the loss of vital body parts. Consequently, they left him alone with his coffee mug. 

  


Harry was deeply grateful for his friends' observation skills. 

  


Sadly, Hermione wasn't one to be easily intimidated, and ignoring all the signals that would have dissuaded a Dementor from getting near the raven-haired teenager, she put a hand on Harry's arm, looking at him in concern. 

  


"Harry, are you feeling well?" 

  


Bloodshot eyes raised from their mug surveillance to give her a sarcastic look. 

  


"Fine, Herm. Just _fine_" 

  


Harry resumed his previous stare contest with his coffee, leaving a very worried and very bewildered girl lookin at him in concern. Not easily dissuaded, Hermione opened her mouth to keep questioning the green eyed boy about his welfare, but an elbow to her ribs stopped her. 

  


She turned around to glare at Ron, but he simply whispered in her ear, _"Leave him alone. He'll tell us when he thinks he's ready."_

  


Overhearing his friend, Harry could have kissed Ron then and there –if not for the extreme yuckness factor involved. The redhead's suggestion made Hermione rethink her actions, and she finally let go of the issue –if only for the moment. And the last thing The Boy Who Had Had A Night To Run Away From Screaming wanted right then was to bring up the cause of his messier-than-standard looks and horrible mood. He had done a fairly good job of avoiding everyone in the dorm that morning by pretending to be asleep, to throw it away now and start spilling about his awful night-time experience. 

  


Just thinking about the whole mess made him want to throw up, so much it revolted him. Actually, he was entertaining the idea of hiding under the Gryffindor table with his coffee mug and not getting out. 

  


Ever again. 

  


Not that it would help him stop thinking about the dream, mind you, but he would not have to face the reactions of his friends when he –eventually, maybe the next century, if he had any say on the matter– told them. 

  


And if theirs were something like his, they were going to be one hell of a reaction. 

  


His subconscious, not happy with waking him up sometime around five that morning, kept serving up vivid flashes of the most enjoya— _disturbing_ images of the dre— _nightmare_. No more calling it a dream when it was surely sent by evil demons from hell. 

  


So he had been reliving the _nightmare_, finding himself unable to prevent the images from coming to his mind. 

  


Even hitting the dorm wall with his head hadn't helped him on that task. 

  


The other reaction he had gone through had been a bout of intense brooding. After realizing he would be unable to stop the stream of images, he had put the few brain cells that hadn't gone catatonic from the shock to work, in a desperate attempt to find a cause for all that upset. 

  


In a move he would regret later, he had welcomed the continuous replay of his oneiric scene, to analyze and then overanalyze a little more the workings of the nightmare. The most repeated phrase in his musings had been, _"Why!!??"_ This query came in several degrees of desperation and/or rage. 

  


After a couple of hours of intense self-torture he had only gotten one hell of a headache, and none of the answers he'd been searching for. 

  


All this combined had had as result a very snappy and almost homicidal Harry at the first light of dawn. Reason enough for him to avoid any kind of personal contact that morning, with his pretence of being asleep. 

  


Ron would never know how close he had been to losing a finger when he had poked Harry on the shoulder to wake him up… 

  


Luckily for his friends, he had somehow controlled the nastier impulses by the time he had come down from Gryffindor Tower for breakfast. 

  


Still, if anyone brought up the subject of Jenkins' project… 

  


Absorbed in his own thoughts, Harry had effectively failed to notice that, as a matter of fact, none of the 6th Year Gryffindors at the table were mentioning a single thing about the Defence assignment. The green eyed boy was far too preoccupied with the cause of all the mess he was in, to pay attention to little details. 

  


Well, more like who was the cause, actually. Harry's problem was entirely focused on the identity of the person playing the lead role in his nightmare. 

  


He would have been able to handle dreaming of his parents. He did that a lot. If Cedric had appeared, he wouldn't have been surprised at all. Even Voldemort would have been welcomed with open arms, for Merlin's sake! But he hadn't been prepared at all to deal with the Bludger his subconscious had decided to throw at him. 

  


Apparently, the Boy Who Lived liked it rough, so he had gone and dreamed of that filthy, intolerable, vain, snobby bastard and evil git also known as Draco Malfoy. 

  


He had bloody dreamt of Draco Malfoy, of all people!!! 

  


The mere concept could be enough to cause him an aneurysm. 

  


Could anyone really blame him for not wanting to go to his best friends and tell them: _'Remember Jenkins' project? Yes, the one with the dreams? What, you didn't dream of Malfoy??? Oh my, you so don't know what you're missing… He was in my dream and he was…'_

  


Er.. maybe kind of… perfect. 

  


Well, yes, there was no use in denying it. The Malfoy in his nightmare had been the epitome of everything un-Malfoyesque; sweet and tender, and amazing, and caring… 

  


And that's what made it all so bloody disturbing and utterly terrifying, Harry mused silently while trying to vanish the unwelcome revival. If Malfoy had appeared in the drea-nightmare torturing him, he could have found it normal… 

  


Wait, that didn't sound too well… 

  


He slapped himself mentally before his traitorous mind started conjuring Leather-Clad-Malfoy images. Next he would find himself entertaining the idea of being tied to a black-sheeted bed and blindfolded with a velvet ribbon by the blond demon… 

  


Oh God! Could anyone say 'very bad visuals' here? 

  


He was desperate: He didn't know what to think, what to feel, what to do… In very few and blunt words, he was totally at loss. 

  


It was at this point that Harry realized he had been stirring his coffee for the last ten minutes, and the black liquid was almost freezing cold. Given the concerned look on Hermione's face, she had noticed it as well. 

  


Great. He was in for one of Hermione's Talks™ later. Just bloody wonderful. 

  


Harry somehow managed to fight the urge to bang his head against the table, but couldn't help the little groan that escaped his lips. He wished away the cold coffee and asked the House Elves for a fresh mug. Instantly, a new mug apparated on the table, thin swirls of white steam coming off the black surface of the liquid. 

  


He took it and raised the warm container to his lips, all the while wishing for the gods to show some mercy and free him from such torture. Eradicating all trace of Malfoy's presence from the face of Earth didn't sound half bad, either. 

  


But it seemed the gods were feeling particularly sadistic that morning, because that was the precise moment the object of Harry's obsession chose to attend breakfast. 

  


Harry froze mid-sip and for an eternal second, grey eyes locked with green ones and The Boy Who Lived was treated to a fast-playing montage of the whole Malfoy-influenced part of the dream _(nightmare!)_. 

  


He then proceeded to violently choke on his coffee. 

  


Harry was almost grateful for the coughing fit that accompanied such a controlled reaction to Malfoy's presence. It had prevented him from witnessing the nasty smirk he betted now adorned the handsome Slytherin's chiseled face. 

  


_Hey! Don't start!_, was his mental scream at the rebellious part of his psyche that repeatedly insisted in bringing up the nightmare memories and insistently pointed out Malfoy's best physical qualities. 

  


His only response was a soft snickering, which irritated him to no end. 

  


"Harry, are you sure you're alright?" Hermione patted Harry's back to help him breathe normally again, concern evident in her brown eyes. Even Ron had started looking worried enough to take a break in his Quidditch-focused conversation with Seamus. 

  


"It's nothing," he dismissed his friends with casual wave of his hand. "I'm not planning on drowning in my coffee cup, really." 

  


For the looks on their faces, they didn't seem all that convinced, but Harry just ignored them and went back to his coffee-drinking, fixing his green gaze on the wall behind the Ravenclaw table. Which happened to conveniently be situated in the opposite direction to the Slytherin zone of influence. 

  


The last thing he wanted was to catch a glimpse of He Who Haunted His Nightmares, and let himself be distracted remembering the way his silvery blond fringe fell over his forehead, or how those ice-pink lips could create sweet smiles, or the softness of his touch, or how his silvery eyes narrowed when he was glaring at him… 

  


One moment, the raven-haired boy's mind froze. Glaring? There hadn't been any glaring on the nightmare… 

  


_Oh God!_, Harry panicked, _I'm_ staring _at Malfoy! I'm staring at _Malfoy_! And I hadn't even realized I was doing it!_

  


Harry's battered brain cells went on a horror trip then and there, while a mammoth-sized wave of despair washed over him. Amidst all the confusion he was suffering, he somehow realized that he had been seeing the dr-_nightmare-Malfoy's_ image superimposed on the real one and hadn't been able to tell one from the other! And that made him have the reactions he had experienced towards his nightmare Malfoy directed now towards the real life one. 

  


_This is so not happening_, his mind whined._ I'm not doing this. There is no possible way I'm doing this. This is a horrible, horrible nightmare and I'm going to wake up at any moment and then laugh at it all._

  


_So you say_, the traitorous part of his mind told him, _but then, why are you still looking at him, hmm?_

  


_Oh God! It's real!_

  


Harry's sorry attempt at denial cracked like a mirror under an elephant's leg, and the Gryffindor felt as if he had lost his very best friend. 

  


But the mourning for the lost denial lasted only until the raven-haired boy saw suspicion starting to rise in the gray eyes of the Slytherin, and panic reclaimed its well-earned place. 

  


_Oh my God!_, Harry thought frantically, _he is going to notice! And then he'll know and I'll have to jump off Gryffindor Tower to never face such an embarrassment; better death than fancying Malfoy!_

  


_I have to do something!_

  


_But what, exactly?_

  


_Must find something I can work with, something familiar, and nice and warm and…_

  


Harry's green eyes widened with newfound realization. _That's it, of course!_

  


Remembering the _How to be a Good Gryffindor_ handbook, Harry used the standard procedure for this sort of cases: when faced with irrefutable symptoms of most mysterious evil, the only possible culprits are the Slytherins. 

  


This was all Malfoy's fault! 

  


The influx of anger in Harry's system caused by this statement, curiously enough, made the teenager feel calmer than he had been since he had woken up. The Malfoy-loathing territory was something he had been used to since he was eleven, after all. 

  


_Of course_, he concluded in totally unrealistic triumph, _all this dream-evil has to be a insidious plot of that vile Slytherin!_ He had intruded in his dreams to make his life a living hell! 

  


Harry wisely decided to ignore the little voice in the back of his mind pointing out that he had been the one to drink the _Somnus Veritas_ potion and dream of Malfoy; and that it was highly improbable the other boy could have done anything to interfere. This time, denial had come hand in hand with the usual anger directed towards the Slytherin, and it wasn't going to let itself be crushed by piddling reason. 

  


What had previously been a somehow lost gaze directed at the Slytherin, turned into a full glare. Harry observed, feeling deep relief, how suspicion was erased from the silver eyes and the blond boy returned the deadly look in full force. 

  


But being in the intense state of denial and ire Harry was experiencing had made the raven-haired boy lose any trace of rationality he might have left. He discovered that after the initial moment, when he had welcomed the Slytherin's glare with heartfelt gratitude, he had started feeling outrageously offended by the fact that Malfoy dared to even glance at him, when the blonde had been responsible for all his misfortunes. 

  


The Boy Who Was Severely Pissed Off rose to his feet abruptly, his hands clutching at the breakfast table until his knuckles went white. The sudden movement attracted the surprised glances of his fellow Gryffindors, but he didn't acknowledge them. He was too absorbed by restraining himself from going over to the Slytherin table, and doing something painfully violent to Malfoy. 

  


_Oooh, kinky!_, purred the little sly voice in his mind. _But there are other much more interesting things that could be done to that sexy blond piece of fantasy..._

  


That was more than Harry could stand at the moment, and in a faster-than-lightning move, he grabbed his schoolbag and stormed off the Great Hall, not caring at all that he had left a considerable number of very bewildered people behind. 

  


**  
* * ***

  
"I'm going after him" 

  


That said, Hermione pushed away her breakfast and quickly started gathering her things. She had barely got a handle of her overweight schoolbag, when a hand at her elbow stopped her. 

  


"Hermione, I wouldn't go after Harry right now." Ron looked seriously at her. "I really don't think he wants to talk to anyone, don't you think so?" 

  


"But..." 

  


"I mean," the redhead continued, "he looks like he had an awful night, which we kind of expected anyway; and you know how he acts then. When he is ready, he'll tell us." 

  


Hermione stared at her friend in a mix of understanding and horrified realization. They had been so used to Harry's nightmares that they already thought of them as 'normal' occurrences. 

  


"Ron, he looked more upset than usual," and Hermione mentally winced at how casual they sounded talking about their friend's problems. "I'd dare say that he seemed pretty freaked out. And I haven't seen him anything like this since..." 

  


Words died in the girl's lips, but she silently finished the statement in her mind: _since the beginning of 5th year, and his never-ending Cedric nightmares..._

  


"More reason then to leave him alone, Herm," Ron said. "I already told you that we were expecting something like this, didn't we? And that was why we decided not to mention Jenkins' assignment when he arrived for breakfast." 

  


"Ron's right, Hermione." Seamus put down his buttered toast and joined the conversation. "I mean, if you had had a nightmare in which, more than probably, you had to face your worst enemy, or keep remembering those who died, you'd like to have some time alone..." 

  


The Gryffindor girl looked at her two friends, evaluating their words, and she admitted they might have a point. But that didn't help the fact that she was awfully concerned for Harry. She had been observing him since he had appeared in the Great Hall, and most of his reactions were way out of what they would name _'Harry's post nightmare behaviour.'_ The way he had stormed out the Hall wasn't how Harry would act. There was too much restrained violence in his actions, to let her think this was one of 'those' usual occurrences. 

  


"I don't care what you say," the girl's voice was stern. "I have to be sure he is all right." 

  


Ron shrugged. "Don't say we didn't warn you when he sends you back here, Herm." 

  


Hermione glared at her redhead friend and in the corner of her eye saw how Seamus discreetly resumed his toast-munching, deciding it would be best for him not to interfere anymore. In her eyes, it was somewhat amazing the way boys happily sidestepped anything related to emotional turmoil and acted totally nonchalant about the whole thing. 

  


_Ah well_, she added bitterly, _it's all part and parcel, I suppose._

  


The auburn-haired girl walked away from the Gryffindor table carrying her heavy schoolbag, but when she only was a couple of meters away, she turned around and fixed the redhead with a meaningful look. 

  


"You know, Ron, it will never cease to amaze me the way you take _everything_ for granted." Her voice was calculatedly casual. "Maybe one day life will give you a nasty surprise." 

  


Hermione resumed her way with a little triumphant smile, after seeing the uneasy expression in the tall boy's face. She knew he had understood that she was talking about more than just Harry there. 

  


_Let's give him something to think about_, she thought somehow smugly, and crossed the Great Hall's threshold in search of Harry. 

  


She didn't really need to look for too long before she finally found him. 

  


The dark-haired boy was sitting at one of the History of Magic classroom's desks, legs drawn against his chest and his head buried in his arms, looking absolutely miserable. 

  


It seemed that he had calmed down since he had left the breakfast table and she was grateful for it, but this air of endless hopelessness surrounding him worried the auburn haired girl even more. 

  


"Harry," Hermione called out softly. 

  


The boy did nothing to acknowledge her presence. He seemed decided to block out anything around him and obviously that included her. But Hermione hadn't come this far to give up, so she walked until she was next to Harry's desk. 

  


She put a hand on his arm and said his name again. 

  


"Harry..." 

  


"Go 'way Herm," was the muffled response. 

  


Hermione looked intently at her friend but did nothing to comply with his request. 

  


"Harry, I...", she hesitated, not really knowing how to start the conversation. "I just wanted you to know that you can talk to me about anything that bothers you." 

  


For the first time Harry raised his head and gave the girl a slightly exasperated look. 

  


"There's nothing to talk about, really." 

  


That brought Hermione's patience to an abrupt end. 

  


"You could have fooled me," she started a little irritated. "You appear at breakfast looking as if you had gone to hell and just come back; keep on spacing out and reacting strangely, and then you storm off totally enraged for no apparent reason. Yes, I guess you're just _fine_." 

  


When she saw Harry's green eyes harden as he glared at her, she inmediatly regretted her outburst. 

  


"I'm sorry, Harry. It's just that I'm awfully worried about you and you won't let me help..." 

  


Harry sighed and his face softened. 

  


"I know Herm, I know," he said tiredly, and ran a hand through his disheveled black hair. "It's just that I don't feel like talking to anyone." 

  


"Is it that bad?" 

  


Harry looked at her with a sombre expression for a long moment before answering. 

  


"Worse." 

  


"Was it...," she hesitated again before voicing her theory, "...You Know Who?" 

  


Hermione's eyes widened in surprise when she heard her friend's muttered "I wish". 

  


"What?" 

  


"It wasn't Voldemort," Harry clarified a bit dejectedly, and then, so softly that Hermione barely made it out, he added, "It was worse." 

  


Unlike many other people in the school, the girl didn't visibly flinch at hearing the forbidden name, but she realized she would never get used to the way Harry was able to, sometimes carelessly, throw that feared word around. Anyway, this posed yet another question. 

  


What could have Harry dreamt that made him wish to have faced the Dark Lord instead? 

  


She asked her friend as much. 

  


"What could be worse than You Know Who?" 

  


Harry gave her a despairing look before burying again his head in his arms, refusing to answer. The girl couldn't stop the agitation laced with worry and fear for her friend that clenched her heart. What could be that bad? 

  


"Harry, please," Hermione insisted urgently, "whatever it is that has put you in this state, it won't go away if you ignore it." 

  


"I can damn well try," Harry said stubbornly. 

  


"It will only get worse," reasoned the girl. "You need to talk to someone about it. Don't keep it all to yourself if it bothers you that much." 

  


When Harry didn't respond to Hermione's suggestion, she sighed in defeat. She knew all too well that when her friend got like this, it was really hard to make him talk. He had always been used to dealing with his problems alone and usually refused to ask for help from others. This time wasn't different. 

  


She stared helplessly at her friend, feeling utterly frustrated at not being able to do anything for him. Even if it was due to his pigheadedness. She sat down on the desk next to Harry's and looked sightlessly into the dark board, doing the only thing Harry seemed to allow her to do: offer silent company. 

  


"Malfoy" 

  


The word was barely over a whisper, but startled Hermione enough to make her turn quickly to look at Harry with wide eyes. 

  


"What?" 

  


"It was Malfoy," the boy muttered from under the shelter of his arms. 

  


Hermione looked incredulously at her friend. She was having problems trying to wrap her brain around the concept that having a nightmare about Draco Malfoy could render Harry into a state such as this. 

  


"And you're like this just because Malfoy appeared in your nightmare? It's not as if you don't deal with his evil ways every day, Harry." 

  


Harry was silent for a short instant, and she got the feeling that he was considering something very crucial to explaining all this mess. 

  


"It wasn't —_exactly_ a nightmare," Harry's voice sounded small and laced with... embarrassment?. "At least not until I woke up." 

  


Hermione stared at the raven-haired boy uncomprehendingly for a long moment, until the implications of what he had just told hit her like a Bludger. 

  


If whatever Harry had dreamed hadn't been a nightmare and it had put him like this... there was only one possible option. 

  


"_Oh._" 

  


Now she understood completely why her friend was reacting like that. Hell, if it had happened to her she wouldn't have gotten down from the Gryffindor dormitories. _Ever_. 

  


"I'm _so_ screwed..." 

  


In one of those moments that came once every thousand years, Hermione found herself in trouble to find the words to refute Harry's despaired statement. 

  


"Er..." 

  


She cleared her throat. "It's not that bad, Harry. Really. ... and being gay is something natural..." 

  


Harry looked incredulously at her. 

  


"I am _not_ gay, Hermione," his voice was steely. "And I wouldn't fret like this if I discovered I was, believe me.." 

  


Hermione made a quick mental note about this and wondered how many polls on the sexual leanings of The Boy Who Lived would be cleared out by the confession. She was sure that if the news reached the student population they would generate a considerable amount of dreamy sighs. From _both_ genders. 

  


"Anyway," the boy continued, "you're not anyone to speak, Herm." Harry raised his head again and offered a hard look at her, "You haven't dreamed about _him_, have you?" 

  


The girl shook violently her head, dissipating the horrible visuals Harry's words had conjured. 

  


"But it is only a dream..." she added after regaining some composure, sounding not entirely sure. So much for trying to reassure her friend... 

  


"Only a dream, you say? If I remember it right, it was a dream induced by a potion that was going to show me my innermost desires, and I ended up dreaming of Draco Malfoy!" 

  


Harry got up from the desk in a harsh motion, and stared with wild green eyes at Hermione. 

  


"You can't understand, Hermione," he nearly screamed. "You just can't. In my dream, he was perfect. He was everything anyone could dream of —_literally_. Can you really tell me that you wouldn't feel crushed if you discovered that the incarnation of your ideal person is the one you despise the most?" 

  


She looked helplessly at her friend. 

  


"I'm sure there is a logical explanation for this." _There has to be one_, she wished silently. "And this is an isolated occurrence, right? Because you haven't dreamed of him before, _right_?" 

  


Hermione decided to wisely ignore the dismayed way in which her last sentence had cracked. Harry dreaming repeatedly about The Gelled Embodiment of everything Evil and Irritating, also known as Draco Malfoy, was something she wasn't sure she could fathom. 

  


"Of course not!," Harry scoffed, totally affronted. 

  


Hermione didn't hold back the sigh of relief. 

  


"Good," she started, "so this has only happened once, and given the way dreams work, you shouldn't take it literally." 

  


Alright, it seemed that she had found something to work with and it didn't sound half bad.

  


"The project's main idea," Hermione continued, "was to see how we would interpret the truth shown in our dreams. Maybe you should try to focus on the general meaning of it all, and not get stuck in a particular case..." 

  


Harry looked somehow disbelievingly at her. 

  


"So you say," he replied, "that I have to pay no attention to the fact that Malfoy decided to drop in on my dr-_nightmare_, and instead look at it all from a neutral point of view. As if he was only the representation of something more abstract?" 

  


Hermione nodded. 

  


"Exactly," and she prayed Harry started to believe it. 

  


"Hmm, it makes sense —I suppose." He didn't sound entirely sure but seemed as if he had started to feel slightly comfortable with the idea. 

  


"You should talk to Professor Jenkins anyway..." 

  


"No!" Harry shook his dark head vehemently. "This doesn't leave this room, Herm. You can't tell anyone. _Especially_ not Ron," he added with a ring of finality in his voice. 

  


Hermione's could clearly see the boy's point. After fainting dead at the news, Ron might try to exorcise the devil out of Harry for having such a dream. The redhead's hate for Malfoy was something that even first years had heard of –and that, even _before_ entering Hogwarts. 

  


"Don't worry. I won't tell." 

  


Harry offered her a curt nod and went back to sit on the desk. They still had twenty minutes until the class started, and it was evident he didn't want to go back to the Great Hall. 

  


"How I wish this day would end..." Harry wistfully commented. "I'm not sure I'll be able to refrain from throttling Malfoy if I ever cross paths with him. I so hope I can avoid the insufferable git..." 

  


Hermione looked back at him when hearing this. 

  


"Er... Harry," she hesitated, a little wary of what Harry's reaction could be. "You do realize we have _Care of Magical Creatures_ with Slytherin this afternoon, don't you?" 

  


The boy stared at her in downing horror. 

  


"Fuck!" Harry buried his head in his arms once again, utterly defeated.

  


_We are in for a very interesting day_, Hermione mused silently while she got her things from the heavy schoolbag and placed them with great care and precision on her desk. 

  


_I hope we all come out of it alive._

**  
* * ***

_End of Chapter 2_

  


**_Infamous Last Words:_** Will the Gryffindors and Slytherins at _Care of Magical Creatures_ survive the awaited Potter/Malfoy meeting? Will Harry finally strangle the Slytherin or will he prefer other ways of er.. body contact? And will the Malfoyness of the dreams continue? MoD3 will provide the answers… or not. _*grins sadistically*_


	3. Of Fretting, Suspicions and Very Bad Day...

**Title:** The Meaning of Dreams   
**Author:** Karura Varyin, a.k.a Sirylu  
**Email:** webmistress@ingrad.net  
**Category:** Slash/Romance/Angst  
**Rating:** PG-13 for now. Eventually R  
**Spoilers:** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF. 

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 

**Warnings:** This is a **Slash** piece of fanfiction, so **male/male** relationships will be involved. If you're not comfortable with **homosexuality**, don't keep on reading this story. The two characters involved in the action are **Harry Potter** and **Draco Malfoy.** There, now don't you say I didn't warn you *grins* 

**Author notes:** After a writer's block the size of Mount Everest, I'm back to business. Heartfelt thanks go to Lady M and Court who have put up with my wibblings and general silliness.

**Special Thanks:** To all of you guys that reviewed the second chapter: MistWalker, moriavis, Lady Doncaster, AmZ, Anar, La Princesse D'or, sadineye, Sheep666, FatalDreams-Seducer of Fantasy, Di-chan, Shinigami, Hannya, Lunadeath, El, Miss Mew, Artemis Luna Diana, Fairchilde, Person, Mac Ceallach, Maya, IcyEyes202, Momo, Velchan**, **S. Wing, Scythe. You are all great, guys! 

**MoD Home on the net:** veranoctis.ingrad.net (add the http before the url if you need it)

**  
* * ***

**The Meaning of Dreams**  
**Chapter 3:** _Of Fretting, Suspicions and Very Bad Days_

**  
* * ***

There were days that should be erased from the calendar.

  
That was Harry's firm belief by the time his roast beef materialized on the Gryffindor table at Hogwarts' Great Hall. He was sitting totally rigid from the tension and with his back strategically turned to the Slytherin table, Hermione calmly eating her meal at his left.

  
The rest of the table was empty.

  
As a matter of fact, the _rest of the Hall_ was empty.

  
And there was, of course, a very easy and very logical explanation for all this solitude.

  
The student-less state of the tables was due the fact that they had both arrived very early to have lunch, as a consequence of Harry's Malfoy-avoidance plan.

  
He had resigned himself to the fact that there was no way he could escape from seeing the Slytherin that afternoon that didn't involve skipping _Care of Magical Creatures_. And since it was Hagrid teaching that class, he didn't have the heart to stand up the huge man. 

  
But until then he would be sure he didn't have to face Malfoy at all. He was too young to end up in Azkaban.

  
Hence the ridiculously early hour at which he had dragged Hermione to the Great Hall to have lunch.  
  
  
He was really —and he meant _really_— grateful to Hermione, who had been playing bodyguard for him all morning. She had changed her usually immovable academic patterns for him and had shared his desk in all their morning classes to spare him unwanted confrontations with his male friends.

  
As much as he loved Ron and the others, he didn't delude himself into thinking that they possessed more tact than a bull in a china shop. 

  
Much less, any kind of discretion.

  
The way they had kept throwing not-so-subtle glances at him when they had arrived for _History of Magic_ that morning, had told him that they were curious about how much he had confessed to Hermione. So they would take the first chance they could get —pretending they weren't doing such a thing— to thoroughly interrogate him.

  
And Harry was _so_ not in the mood…

  
Having Hermione with him had beautifully served the purpose of keeping the male Gryffindors out of his range. It really was amazing, the power of intimidation she held over the male population of Gryffindor tower —and if he interpreted the looks correctly, over most of the male students in Hogwarts, Slytherins included. Such a slender girl needed only a hard look to make a boy cower in fright.

  
And she had one hell of a right hook.

  
Malfoy could give his opinion on that…

  
Harry winced at the not totally unexpected –if the recent past was any indication– and most unwelcome reference to Malfoy.

_  
Oh crap_, Harry mentally whined, _not again…_

  
And thing was that this had been happening quite often during the morning hours. Malfoy popping suddenly into his mind to torture him and threaten to render The Boy Who Lived to a pile of gibbering goo. At the most unexpected moments too.

  
He had really tried to fight it, being the valiant and fearless Gryffindor he was. He had gone to the extent of actually trying to pay attention to what Professor Binns had been explaining in the always captivating _History of Magic_ class.

  
On the plus side, that had even earned him an approving glance from Hermione, and a share of stunned expressions from the rest of the class.

  
Good to know that hellish personal situations dealing with blond Slytherins could improve one's academic achievement.

  
On the minus side? It hadn't worked on said Snobbish Git situation. 

  
The annoying Slytherin refused to leave his spot in Harry's brain and flashbacks of the dreams had been the order of the day all morning long.

  
Maybe it had been due to how _exciting _the lecture was. Maybe it had simply been that he was losing his mind. But truth be told, Harry hadn't been able to erase the feeling of the dream all morning, and remembering the warmth colouring the silvery gaze of his dream _visitor_ (or was it _intruder_?) distracted him from any pretence of concentration.

  
Thanks to Hermione's theory he had managed to get a handle on his most turbulent emotions. The girl's explanation had sounded plausible enough as to not force him to do something drastic at being dream-defiled by the Slytherin. 

  
But nonetheless, he couldn't push the dream away either. And that disturbed him to no end.

  
Distractedly poking his food around the plate, Harry sighed in resignation and allowed himself to wallow in self-pity.

  
Didn't he have enough in his life with Voldemort that now he had to deal with a blond, not-quite-reptilian version of a Dark Lord-in-training, tormenting him both in dreams and real life?

  
He cursed the moment he had decided to try Jenkins' extra assignment and, right then, he would have given anything to be able to change places with Ron.

  
Although, Harry silently pointed out, he seriously doubted his red-headed friend would be of a mind with him on that particular subject. Had _this_ happened to Ron they would have had to pry him away from Malfoy's throat. That, or impede him from presenting himself as a freckled dessert to the Giant Squid, of course.

  
"Harry." Hermione's voice brought The Boy Who Brooded back to present time.

  
"Uh?" was the eloquent response.

  
Hermione looked at him sternly, undisguised concern in her brown eyes. 

  
"Eat."

  
Harry stared helplessly at his plate.

  
"I'm not hungry."

  
He cringed inwardly when he saw his friend's gaze harden and he knew, without any kind of doubt, that Hermione had gotten into Full Motherly Mode.

  
And there was no way in hell to escape from that.

  
"Harry Potter, you are not leaving this room until you've finished your meal," she directed one slender finger at him. "And since you're trying to avoid any kind of human contact I'd suggest you chew. _Quickly_. The rest of the students will arrive at any moment and I suppose you wouldn't fancy an encounter of the Malfoy-esque kind, right?"

  
Harry shuddered at the possibility and decided Hermione had a very valid point. He might not be hungry, but anything was better than having to face the usual confrontation with the Slytherins at lunch hour.

  
What at other times he had found entertaining and even something to look forward to, now served to send him spiralling into heart-clenching fear and apprehension. 

  
He could not face Malfoy in a state like this. 

  
Routine was such a bitch sometimes...

  
The raven-haired teenager started to eat his meal with obvious distaste but a determined look on his face, ignoring the little nod of approval Hermione directed at him. He wanted to be out of the Hall as soon as possible and anything would be done to achieve that goal.

  
It was then when he heard the first voices of those who were arriving at the Great Hall.

  
Harry's eyes widened and looked at Hermione with frantic intensity.

  
"Hermione," he started rather shakily.

  
"Not until you finish that roast beef."

  
"But- "

  
"The longer you talk the less time you have left, Harry."

  
He directed a baleful glance at his dictatorial friend, but knew better than to openly defy her. With a grimace he proceeded to munch and swallow his – much hated in that instant – roast beef.

  
Sadly, he wasn't in time to finish before Ron let himself fall on the chair across from him.

  
"Hey," the redhead greeted his two friends.

  
Hermione returned the greeting while Harry chewed even more quickly. He hadn't missed the inquisitive gleam in the redhead's eyes and he instinctively knew that an interrogation was coming his way.

  
He had to get out of the Hall, now!

  
"Geez, man, you sure are hungry today. We almost didn't see you up at the Tower, you passed by so fast."

  
The raven-haired boy mentally groaned. _Here we go…_

  
The entire Hogwarts population was aware of Ron's appalling lack of tact. The way the tall boy threw himself into things was one of his more recognizable characteristics. However, there had been times when, in a most un-Ron-esque way, the redhead had tried to show a certain amount of subtlety and gather information without looking too obvious. From what Harry had witnessed, the success rate was dismal, but that didn't keep Ron from trying to do it from time to time.

  
Unluckily for Harry, this was one of those times. And as per usual Ron was spectacularly failing in accomplishing any degree of subtlety.

  
The hard look in his blue eyes gave away the tall boy's intentions in full detail.

  
Knowing perfectly well the way Ron's mind usually worked, Harry realized that the redhead was feeling left out of the situation. Hermione had been the only one to follow him that morning, and Harry could bet that Ron hadn't expected that he was going to tell her anything.

  
And now that it was obvious that the exact opposite had happened in that empty classroom, Ron felt he now had the right to know what was going on with his friend.

  
"Hmm," was the noncommittal response. If the redhead wanted information, he was out of luck. Harry had had his quota for soul-baring-confessions already covered with Hermione.

  
He pushed the last two pieces of roast beef into his mouth, ignoring the way Ron's eyes hardened a little more, and was still chewing on them when he got up from his seat and grabbed his bag, deciding to escape. Hermione offered him a slightly exasperated look, but said nothing about the hasty retreat.

  
"Sorry," Harry said around the last mouthful, "but I have to revise my notes before the next class, so I'd better get going."

  
He walked quickly towards the exit, not looking back towards the table, where he knew Ron would be sporting a highly annoyed expression. Harry suspected he was going to have a very interesting night up at Gryffindor boys dorm.

  
On his way out he threw a surreptitious glance at the Slytherins. Parkinson and Zabini had already arrived but there was no sign of Malfoy. A feeling of foreboding washed over Harry. He had to get the hell out of the Great Hall before Malfoy…

  
… decided to make an appearance at lunch and block his escape.

  
"Look who we have here, boys," the blond boy drawled with just the right touch of sarcasm.

  
Harry felt horror spread through his body when two steely grey eyes locked on his and the dream made itself present once again. He tried to push the disturbing feeling away and closed his hands into fists, nails digging viciously into his flesh.

  
"Potty is all alone today," Malfoy chided, a nasty smirk curving his lips, "have your little sidekicks abandoned you? It's a wonder you find your way around the school without them."

  
In any other situation, that would have more than enough to start of one of the typical Slytherin-Gryffindor parrying matches at mealtimes. But right then Harry was far too occupied fighting his inner turmoil to come up with a nasty comeback to shoot at the other boy. It seemed that trying not to stare too intently at the Slytherin was a difficult task indeed, and he was starting to notice his eyes glazing over. 

  
He shook his head in a desperate attempt to clear his mind.

  
"Get out of my way, Malfoy," Harry hissed through clenched teeth, "I don't have time to waste with you."

  
With an abrupt movement, Harry stormed pass the blond and his cohorts, not before catching the surprised look on the Slytherin's face. He knew this wasn't the way he was expected to behave, but in life everyone had to have his priorities clear, and in his mind, avoiding Malfoy at any cost ranked number one in that moment.

  
Harry hurried through the Hogwarts corridors in long and angry strides, using all his will to control himself. Having the other boy front of him made it nearly impossible to ignore all those characteristics the dream had so easily pointed out. 

  
The ones that fell in the physical realm didn't bother Harry too much, since anyone with eyes could tell the Slytherin was fairly attractive. Malfoy had those snobbish aristocratic looks that made half the female population of Hogwarts sigh whenever he ran a hand through his pale hair or raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow in disdain.

  
It was the characteristics that had brought to light the soft and caring emotions that worried him the most. Mostly because they were completely unrealistic.

  
Everyone at Hogwarts knew that Malfoy was a cruel and sadistic bastard who only found entertainment in making others suffer. Even his own housemates were aware of this, though it didn't help that most of them were the same.

  
So conjuring up images of the evil blond smiling softly or looking at him with warm eyes was about as far from reality as imagining that Voldemort might one day appear at the castle and ask Dumbledore for a Sherbet Lemon.

  
He sighed dejectedly and wandered aimlessly until he found what anyone would think was his personal favourite classroom.

  
Why, _History of Magic_, of course. 

  
He seemed to be spending an awful lot of time there today, didn't he?

  
Actually, Harry really needed to go to Gryffindor Tower and gather his things for the afternoon classes. In the rush to get to lunch early, he had dragged Hermione through the dormitories in lightning-like speed, having as a result one Boy Who Lived seriously lacking notes and materials for the upcoming lessons. However, he knew that chances were high that he would stumble upon someone and Harry really wanted to avoid any human contact right now.   
  
  
He sulkily sat on one of the empty chairs of the classroom not pleased at all with the situation he had found himself in. Well, he mused, he could always use one of the secret passages he had discovered thanks to the Marauder's Map. That would allow him to avoid unwanted meetings.   
  
  
Liking the idea, Harry relaxed into the seat, enjoying the silence and solitude of the room. In his present state of mind, this environment was the one that suited him best.   
  
  
He stayed there, staring sightlessly at the board, letting the minutes slowly tick by and trying with all his will to drive away unwelcome images of pale hands, warm kisses and smouldering silver eyes.

**  
* * ***

  
Something was seriously wrong with the world that day.

  
That was the undeniable epiphany that hit Draco Malfoy between bites of his deliciously bloody Filet Mignon. Frowning menacingly at the meat in front of him, he munched viciously whilst going through his '_Ways to disembowel a Gryffindor without getting blood on your clothes_' personal list, earning worried and slightly panicked glances from some of his housemates.

  
An angry Malfoy wasn't a Malfoy you'd like to deal with, and much less sit next to.

  
The blond ignored the attention he had drawn towards himself and kept on plotting revenge against his least favourite person in the whole world: The Boy Who Had Gone Bloody Missing.

  
He threw a resentful glance towards the Gryffindor table, where the red-and-gold fools were enjoying their meals. Draco felt his anger increase another notch when he fixed his eyes in the vacant spot next to Mudblood Granger.

  
How dare Potter not make an appearance and give him the chance to avenge the humiliation suffered the last night? Meals were sacred periods for inter-house rivalry! Besides, no one stood up a Malfoy and got away with their health intact! Even if they didn't know they were standing anyone up!

  
Being every inch a well bred Malfoy, Draco had arbitrarily chosen to ignore the fact that the last word in the little verbal fight with the Gryffindors the previous night had been Weasley's. He simply refused to acknowledge that the Weasel could be considered a worthy rival when he had been wearing the same robes for three years in a row. It was most off-putting to argue with someone whose red-haired calves were visible under the hem of his robes.

  
Draco pursed his lips in disgust.

  
What the blond Slytherin could not get out of his head was the barely perceptible expression of disappointment that had crossed Potter's face when the Gryffindor had walked away towards his House Table the night before. 

  
It had been fleeting, it had been faint. 

  
It had been so short no one but he had noticed it. Not even worth the attention, really.

  
The mere memory made his blood boil.

  
"Draco, dear, you're scaring your meal."

  
The blond turned around and offered Pansy Parkinson an irritated scowl. She raised an eyebrow at him but remained otherwise unruffled by the display of overwhelming Malfoy power.

  
"If you keep frowning so much, you are going to get all wrinkled before you even finish school," she remarked somewhat airily, throwing a gold lock of hair over her shoulder. "Will you tell me why you're in such foul mood today, or do you prefer to keep practicing torture methods with your food?"

  
Draco wished she would spontaneously combust, but he knew better than that. Parkinsons were as well bred as Malfoys and always had displayed an annoying ability to fend off bone-melting glares with the typical aristocratic _'Go ahead, glare. I couldn't care less'_ skill.

  
"None of your business, Pansy," he retorted icily and stabbed his Filet Mignon with vicious precision.

  
She shot him a suspicious look.

  
"This doesn't have anything to do with the fact that you haven't managed to find Potter all morning, does it?"

  
"I don't know what you are talking about," Draco stated dryly not taking his eyes from the plate.

  
Pansy let out an exasperated snort.

  
"For Merlin's sake, Draco. You've been watching the corridors all morning like a hawk, and I somehow suspect that you weren't waiting to be swept away by the image of McGonagall in her new teaching robes, were you?"

  
Draco shot Pansy a look of profound horror, his mind overwhelmed by the visuals the girl's comment had evoked.

  
"No!" his voice cracked an octave higher than its usual tone and half the table turned to look at him. He quickly recovered, for he was a Malfoy and hence he had an iron mind, not easily breakable by hair-raising images, and snarled at them. "What? Do you need me to teach you how to chew? Shoo!"

  
The first years looked ready to hide under the table, whilst the older Slytherins comfortingly patted their shoulders trying to calm them and whispered in their ears they shouldn't be afraid, that it was simply Malfoy having one of _those _days. _Again._

  
Making sure to show obvious distaste, Draco pushed his food away a little bit too dramatically and glared at Pansy with icy grey eyes.

  
The girl stared right back, totally ignoring the chill coming from her housemate's eyes that threatened to turn her into an walking icicle.

  
"You only need to wait until the Oversized Hairball's class to pick a fight with him, Draco. I don't see why you're showing such impatience today." She shrugged elegantly.

  
"As I've said before, Pansy, it does not bloody concern you." Draco pushed his chair back and stood. "You'd better stick your _refined_ nose in your own business."

  
For the first time in their conversation Pansy lost the cool attitude she always sported and glared daggers at the other blond. Draco smirked knowingly. He knew how much any mention directed at her less than aristocratic and quite sharp nose irritated her.

  
The blond started walking towards the exit and sound of chairs told him Crabbe and Goyle were about to follow him. He stopped them with a vague gesture of his hand.

  
"You stay here," Draco ordered haughtily, "I don't want company."

  
"Can I have your meal then?" Crabbe questioned in an eager tone.

  
Draco rolled his eyes in exasperation at the single-mindedness of his friends. "All yours, Vincent."

  
He quickly exited the Great Hall, not paying the least bit of attention to the relieved sighs that came from the Slytherin table at his departure. Draco had much more important things on his mind, like plotting what kind of devious action he would take in _Care of Magical Freaks_ that would metaphorically (or literally) drag Potter through the mud.  


**  
* * ***  
  
_End of Chapter 3 _

  


**_Infamous Last Words:_** How will Harry react to the much awaited face-off with Malfoy at CoMC? Will his Blond Evilness finally find an answer to his questions? And what do you think the Freckled One would do if he learned about Harry's secret? All of this (maybe) on MoD 4 *Grins* 


	4. Author's Notes And General Ramblings

**The Meaning of Dreams :: Author's Notes and General Rambling**

**Last Updated:** 05-31-2003

Well, this will be the place where I will be answering reviews, telling you about the progress of new chapters and about changes suffered by the story. So, well, onto the info *G*

(Note: I had to re-upload all the chapters because FFNET decided it was fun eating the url of where MoD is archived every time I wrote it. I have removed the http and I hope this time they show... *grumbles*)

(Note 2: Also tried to keep the original format that FFNET keeps on screwing up, again and again... *roars*)

**Chapter 4 Progress : : : : : : :**  
Er... 0%... Finals are BITCHES and don't allow me a lot of free time. It's almost a wonder I managed to finish chapter 3... and hell, yes.. I'm a VLP (Very Lazy Person) too, so... haven't the faintest idea when the new chapter will be up *sweatdrops*

**  
Revisions : : : : : : :**  
Well, Chapter 1 and 2 have been re-uploaded, mostly to update the contact information, for my old email is not longer working. There are a couple of minor changes (as in changing a word in italics and such) but nothing of this makes re-reading the chapters needed *G*

**  
Reviews : : : : : : :**  
Gah. Too many. I need to go back to Chapter 1 and start answering those that are meant to be answered. I promise I'll eventually catch up and properly reply to all of you. You have my word... as nice and highly trustworthy Slytherin *grins somewhat evilly*


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